


Dirty Angels and Other Euphemisms

by SouthernContinentSkies



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Biting, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Magical Realism, Sort Of, Time Period: Post-ACC, Vampires, assorted profanity, extreme liberties taken with vampire characteristics, is maybe the appropriate description
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27198328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernContinentSkies/pseuds/SouthernContinentSkies
Summary: Ivan had assumed that Byerly Vorrutyer’s inconveniently nocturnal lifestyle was primarily a product of his clandestine occupation, exaggerated by his natural inclination towards laziness. He hadn't been expectingthis.
Relationships: Ivan Vorpatril/Byerly Vorrutyer
Comments: 24
Kudos: 52
Collections: Shipoween 2020 - The Halloween Ship Exchange!





	Dirty Angels and Other Euphemisms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [james](https://archiveofourown.org/users/james/gifts).



It was difficult to pursue a relationship with someone when your mutual chemistry leant itself to the normal, obnoxious sort of frustration almost as much as the more interesting sexual kind. 

It was almost impossible to do so when the person in question refused to be available for most of the time you were awake.

Ever since that mess with Dono and Richars, when Ivan had confronted Byerly about his unacceptable two-timing behavior only to find his tongue inexplicably in Byerly’s mouth, the two of them had maintained an unsteady orbit around each other, falling out with almost the same frequency that they fell into bed. Dating openly was largely out of the question - it would hurt either Ivan’s reputation or Byerly’s, and neither of them were very keen to test which - but absolute secrecy wasn’t required, so long as they appeared to be in it mostly for the sex. Since that was more or less the truth (or so Ivan kept telling himself), this hadn’t generally been an issue. At a certain point, though, the ships-in-the-night approach began to wear. Ivan didn’t want to start picking out curtains or anything, but an actual conversation at a place outside either of their flats wouldn’t exactly go amiss. Byerly’s wit might be exasperating, but it was also one of his best features - not that Ivan would ever tell him so.

“Look, I understand you have to keep odd hours,” Ivan said one evening, sprawled across Byerly’s ridiculous red silk sheets. “What with your, er, position. But I don’t understand why we can’t at least go out for brunch once in awhile. Or lunch. Or literally anywhere while the sun is up. I’m not asking you to come on a dawn training run with me, for god’s sake.”

Byerly himself was curled up like a cat against Ivan’s side, flicking lazily through his personal inbox on his commpad. The sheets looked less ridiculous against his extraordinarily pale skin, and the tumble of his disarranged dark curls. “We’ve been over this, Ivan,” he said languidly. “I need my beauty sleep.”

“For the _entire solar day?_ That’s -” Ivan stopped to count. “That’s sixteen hours, in the summer! Nobody needs that much sleep.”

“My personal medical information is my own business, Ivan,” Byerly said primly, still absorbed in his pad.

Ivan gave a disgruntled sigh, and resituated himself on the pillows. “You know, I actually almost believe you,” he said. “Given that you also won’t ever stay over, or let me sleep over here. Though knowing you, you might just snore horribly and have a complex about it.”

“Yes, Ivan,” Byerly said calmly, but with a growing edge that indicated he was done talking about it. “That’s it. I snore.”

“Fine.” Ivan pushed himself up to sitting, dislodging By in the process and ignoring his indignant squawk of protest. “Fine. In that case, I may as well go back to my own flat, then, like usual, where if anybody snores I won’t be awake to hear it.”

He dragged himself out of the sheets and off the bed, hunting around near the footboard for his socks. Behind him, Byerly had put his pad aside and was sitting up against the headboard, but he made no move to stop Ivan.

“Good night, Byerly,” Ivan said, when he was dressed. And then, unable to help himself, “Sleep well.”

“Ivan -” Byerly cut himself off, and sighed. “Good night.”

Ivan left the bedroom without looking at him, and took his lightflyer back to his own flat in the dark.

* * *

The next time Ivan saw Byerly, it was an accident. Sort of.

Unusually, he had stayed late enough at work that the weak autumn sun had been set for over an hour by the time he logged off his console. By’s flat was close by, and on the assumption that he must surely be awake by _now_ , Ivan decided to drop in on his way home. He didn’t like to leave things hanging after a tiff, and since he’d gotten the last snarky word in the week before, it was probably his turn to apologize. God knew By wouldn’t, if left to his own devices; for someone so seemingly antithetical to traditional Vor values, he had a very prickly sort of pride. 

Ivan thought about calling ahead, but decided against it. While Ops HQ personnel were technically allowed to use their unsecured consoles for limited personal business, especially after hours, he didn’t particularly want to hand ImpMil a record of who exactly he was sleeping with. ImpSec was a lost cause, of course, but he didn’t have to spread it to the entire government. 

When Byerly answered his door, however, Ivan could see that this had been a terrible mistake. By looked completely frazzled, as though he’d been dragged from something he was absolutely not supposed to be doing, and the last person he wanted to see him do it was Ivan. 

Ivan pasted on his best oblivious smile. He wasn’t going to pry into By’s professional life, but if the reason By kept refusing daylight engagements was a secret diurnal lover, Ivan was going to be seriously annoyed.

“Sorry to drop in,” Ivan said brightly. “But you’re on the way home, and I figured you’d be up by now, so I’d thought I’d see if -” He stopped short. Not only did Byerly look distinctly on edge, but he had what looked like a splash of very fresh blood near the front placket of his shirt. Ivan’s suspicions vanished abruptly in the face of concern. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Byerly frowned at him, and then followed his gaze downward and blanched. Without saying a word, he grabbed the front of Ivan’s shirt and pulled him inside, palming the door closed as soon as they were both over the threshold. 

Inside, Byerly took a breath to speak - and all previous thoughts left Ivan’s head, as By’s newly open mouth revealed what was, unmistakably, a pair of fangs.

“What the fuck,” Ivan managed. He recoiled instinctively, but the closed door was right behind him, and he only succeeded in banging his head. “ _Ow_. Byerly. What the _fuck?_ ”

Byerly stepped back from Ivan, shutting his mouth again with an audible clack. “Mm,” he said, through closed lips, and then sighed and abandoned this tactic. “Look, Ivan, this really isn’t the best time. I just got in myself, and I wasn't quite done cleaning up.”

Ivan’s eyebrows were already in his hairline; there was nowhere else for them to go. “Apparently! What the _fuck_ , By? What even - what _are_ you, some sort of vampire?”

Byerly looked sidelong away from Ivan, but said nothing.

“Oh my _god_.” 

Byerly sighed. “Good evening, Ivan. Please come in. Would you like a drink?”

An hysterical laugh bubbled up behind Ivan’s own, perfectly flat teeth. “Of _what?_ ”

Byerly gave him a Look. “Of that red we were drinking last time, of course.”

“You didn’t finish the bottle? It’s been a week.” In the face of the impossible, Ivan took refuge in the mundane.

“I don’t buy wine one bottle at a time, Ivan. I may need to budget more than my cousin, but I’m not a peasant. Hang on.” 

Byerly ducked into the kitchen, presumably to retrieve the wine - or an unholy instrument of devil worship, for all Ivan knew. Apparently, he knew absolutely nothing about the man he’d been sleeping with for months. He wasn’t shocked By had secrets, but he’d been assuming family skeletons in the closet, not a manifestation of the supernatural! Vampires were a country superstition, the revenge of the dead no one burned offerings for: stories, not secretly-competent town clowns. What the _fuck_.

He followed Byerly into the kitchen anyway, of course. If By had restrained himself from harvesting Ivan’s lifeblood for his vengeful undead purposes so far, he probably wouldn’t bother now.

Probably.

In the kitchen, Byerly was indeed opening the wine, and pouring it. Somewhat to Ivan’s surprise, there were two glasses on the table. Though, now that he thought about it, By had definitely drunk - and eaten - in front of him before. This did not square with the legends Ivan was familiar with. He was confused.

“So,” Ivan said, dropping heavily into one of the kitchen chairs and draining half his glass in one gulp - Byerly raised an eyebrow, but refilled it immediately. “Are you… dead?”

“No, Ivan,” By said, sitting across from him and taking a pointed drink from his own glass. “Nor am I a servant of the devil, or the construct of a mutie sorcerer, or anything else you may have heard from your cousin’s mead-addled hillmen. I told you the last time, actually; it’s a condition.”

“A condition,” Ivan said flatly. “A condition that gives you fangs, and prevents you going out in the sunlight, and causes you to _drink blood?_ ”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

Byerly sighed. “Well… it’s not entirely a _medical_ condition. You could call it a curse, I suppose, if you were feeling dramatic. It runs in the family. I’d call it a mutation, except it’s not entirely genetic. Dono’s having kittens trying to figure out how to make sure none of his will turn out with it. I sympathize, but I don’t have anything to offer - other than future mentorship if the tragedy materializes. Hah.” He frowned across the table. “You’re staring, Ivan. Is there something on my face?”

“I’m staring at your fangs,” Ivan said. “Because, again, you have _fangs_. Have those always been there? I’ve been kissing you for months!”

“They’re just teeth, Ivan. You don’t have to be so disgusted by it.” Byerly’s jaw flexed oddly, and the fangs seemed to disappear, or perhaps retract. He sounded almost hurt.

“No,” Ivan said, still croggled. “No, I mean, you have fangs _in your mouth_ , which has been-”

“Ah,” Byerly said, his customary dry wit snapping back into place. “Ivan, please, when have you ever known me to use teeth on accident? I assure you, I know what I’m doing.”

“Well, yes,” Ivan conceded. “It’s just a little disconcerting to realize how close I- I mean, _they_ \- just, _ow_.”

“Ivan,” Byerly said, suddenly very serious. “I’m not going to bite you without your consent. Anywhere. My word as Vorrutyer, for whatever the hell _that’s_ worth.”

“Yeah…” said Ivan slowly, realizing something. “Speaking of biting, By - who _do_ you bite? Or do you not have to?”

“No, I do. On occasion.” Byerly looked uncomfortable. “It’s marks, mostly. There’s a certain connection that happens, when I do it. It makes people suggestible, and if I want I can make them forget. Usually.”

“Wow,” Ivan said. “Yeah, that would be handy for ImpSec, wouldn’t it?” He frowned at Byerly. “But, you’ve never… not with me, right?”

“ _No_ ,” Byerly said again. “I told you, Ivan - not without your consent.” He made a face. “Or if ImpSec asks me to, I suppose, but I think that’s unlikely.”

“If ImpSec’s worried about me enough to get sneaky, I already have much bigger problems than you and your fantastical fangs,” Ivan said. “I’m not even going to worry about it.” He paused. “Um. What if I _did_ consent?”

Byerly raised his eyebrows. “And why would you do that?”

Ivan shrugged. “You said there’s ‘a certain connection,’” he said. “And in my experience, everything you do with your mouth is enjoyable. I’m curious.”

Byerly looked as though he were torn between smirking and frowning. It made him look sort of like he’d sucked on a lemon, though Ivan wasn’t about to tell him so.

“Well,” he said, staring into Ivan’s eyes, with that peculiar in-between expression playing around his lips. “It’s easy enough to show you, if that’s not a hypothetical.”

Ivan drew in a breath. It hadn’t been, but now that he was faced with the prospect so immediately, he was seriously considering second thoughts.

“It’s not,” he said, regardless of his inhibitions. By hadn’t steered him wrong yet, in anything involving their physical interactions. If this were going to be the first time, he’d rather find out for himself than keep wondering.

Byerly cocked his head, considering. 

Ivan was uncomfortably put in mind of a housecat. It wouldn’t be the first time he had compared that creature’s mannerisms to Byerly’s, but it was the first time he had been reminded, on that comparison, that even a domesticated feline was actually an exceptional predator.

“Alright, Ivan,” Byerly said. “I am, on occasion, happy enough to indulge your fantasies.” He grew more serious. “As long as you understand, you can tap out at any time. I’m not feral, or whatever your second-hand hill country education has taught you - especially when I’ve just eaten, as it were.” He grimaced at the reference, as though it were a sort of faux pas.

“I’m not worried,” Ivan said. “I trust you to stop if I want, and anyway, I can push you off me if I need to. I’ve done it before.”

“You may not want to take that for granted,” Byerly said, raising an eyebrow, before rising from his chair, and offering Ivan his hand to do the same. 

Ivan took it. It wasn’t any colder than anyone else’s, but then, it never had been.

“Relax, Ivan,” By said, drawing him up and cupping his cheek with one hand. “I’m exactly the same person I was yesterday. I’m not going to eat you.” He paused. “Or at least, not literally. Do you think you can hold still?”

“How should I know?”

“Hmm.” Byerly looked around the kitchen for a moment, and then nudged Ivan back against the wall. “Let’s try this.”

Ivan went willingly, but as his back hit the wall and Byerly pressed up against him, he had to suppress a shiver. He trusted Byerly, but there was something disconcerting on a very primal level about being trapped between a wall and a pair of fangs.

“Now,” Byerly said, putting one hand on Ivan’s shoulder and taking his chin in the other. His eyes held Ivan’s in a way that commanded Ivan’s attention. “Don’t thrash, please,” he continued. “You’ll only hurt yourself. Just hold still for me. You’ll just feel a bit of a sting.”

The words sank into Ivan’s mind with more weight than they ought to be carrying. His limbs felt heavy with it, as though moving would be too much effort, and he sagged slightly against the wall.

“That’s it,” Byerly murmured. His jaw flexed again, and the fangs reappeared. He turned Ivan’s chin to the side, baring his neck, and leaned in.

Ivan did feel a sting: a swift, sharp pain that came and went in a moment. It was replaced by a feeling of pressure, and then suction. Ivan was having difficulty thinking clearly enough to describe it, but it felt simultaneously intrusive and intimate, like the world’s most intense lovebite, though that was barely even a metaphor.

Eventually, the sensation eased, and transitioned to the feel of the press of lips against his skin. Byerly drew back, and Ivan sagged forward after him, only By’s hands and the pressure of his body keeping him upright against the wall.

“Alright, Ivan?” Byerly’s lips were at his ear.

Words eluding him, Ivan made the effort to raise his head. 

Byerly’s face was changed, but very subtly. The harsh overheads of the kitchen usually did no one any favors, but By’s complexion was almost luminous now, as though the warmth of Ivan’s blood were glowing under his skin. His eyes were bright, and almost magnetic; once they caught his own, Ivan found it difficult to look away. 

He also had a smear of Ivan’s blood around the edges of his mouth, but that seemed less important, somehow.

“Can you walk?” he asked, peering into Ivan’s face.

Even his voice sounded richer. Ivan wanted him to keep talking.

“Mmm,” Ivan said. It was the best he could manage at the moment.

“That sounds like a no.” Byerly shifted his grip, putting one arm under Ivan’s shoulders, and bent to, yes, _pick Ivan up_ , princess style. If someone had asked Ivan yesterday whether Byerly Vorrutyer were physically capable of such a thing, he would have laughed in their face, but here they both were.

Before Ivan could process how little effort Byerly was actually expending to carry someone taller and allegedly more muscular than he was across the entire flat, they were in the bedroom. Byerly settled Ivan comfortably onto the pillows, and then moved down to start taking off his boots. 

Ivan had nothing to contribute the process. He didn’t feel weak, precisely, but he did feel as though doing anything other than lying there was probably out of the question.

Byerly finished with Ivan’s boots, and moved onto his trousers. Ivan made a questioning noise.

“You’re not going to want to go anywhere, at least for a bit,” Byerly said, in answer. “I’m just getting you comfortable.”

He got Ivan’s trousers off, and his jacket, and left him lounging in his shirtsleeves while he took his own trousers off as well. Then he settled in next to Ivan, drawing him up to his side and pulling the sheets over them both. The warmth of his body blended with the luxurious texture of the sheets, and Ivan thought he’d never felt more comfortable in his life.

After what was probably half an hour, Ivan still felt boneless, but the rest of him was slowly coming back to himself. He could hear By tapping at his commpad, above his head; he must have retrieved it from the bedside table while Ivan was out of it. 

Ivan rolled over a fraction, until he could look up at By's face. “I don’t have to get up and leave now, do I?”

“No.” Byerly paused. “You're not in a fit state yet, and even if you were - it's not the sleeping I mind. Just - don’t be alarmed when you wake up in the morning. I’ll probably look dead, but don’t worry about it. It’s just how I am when the sun’s up.”

“‘Probably’?”

“Well, I’ve never seen myself to know.”

“Fair point.” Ivan yawned and snuggled closer. By’s shoulder was surprisingly comfortable.

“And you’ll stop hounding me about brunch?” Byerly ran his fingers through Ivan’s hair. “It’s not personal, I hope you realize now. I just can’t.”

“Of course.” Ivan was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open. “‘S fine. I thought you were just avoiding talking to me, which was annoying. I like talking to you. Even when you’re being an ass.”

“Thanks,” By said drily. “I think.”

“It’s true,” Ivan said, a bit dreamily. He was drifting off again. “You talk like you’re smarter than me, and you want me to fight you to prove that you’re wrong. It’s fun.”

Byerly snorted.

“Joke’s on you, though,” Ivan continued. “Half the time I say something stupid, it’s just to rile you up and get you to snark at me. You do know who my mother is, right?”

His eyes slipped closed to the sound of By’s surprised huff of a laugh, and the press of lips on his temple. He felt By move under him, settling in to turn back to his commpad, and decided he didn’t need to bother opening them again.

A few moments later, Ivan fell asleep in By’s bed for the first time, with a smile on his face.


End file.
